The War Terror eBook

Over the safe in back was a framework like that which
had covered Schloss’ safe. Kennedy tore
it away, regardless of the alarm which it must have
sounded. In a moment he was down before it on
his knees.

“This is how Schloss’ safe was opened
so quickly,” he muttered, working feverishly.
“Here is some of their own medicine.”

He had placed the peculiar telephone-like transmitter
close to the combination lock and was turning the
combination rapidly.

Suddenly he rose, gave the bolts a twist, and the
ponderous doors swung open.

“What is it?” I asked eagerly.

“A burglar’s microphone,” he answered,
hastily looking over the contents of the safe.
“The microphone is now used by burglars for
picking combination locks. When you turn the lock,
a slight sound is made when the proper number comes
opposite the working point. It can be heard sometimes
by a sensitive ear, although it is imperceptible to
most persons. But by using a microphone it is
an easy matter to hear the sounds which allow of opening
the lock.”

He had taken a yellow chamois bag out of the safe
and opened it.

Inside sparkled the famous Moulton diamonds.
He held them up—­in all their wicked brilliancy.
No one spoke.

Then he took another yellow bag, more dirty and worn
than the first. As he opened it, Mrs. Moulton
could restrain herself no longer.

“The replica!” she cried. “The
replica!”

Without a word, Craig handed the real necklace to
her. Then he slipped the paste jewels into the
newer of the bags and restored both it and the empty
one to their places, banged shut the door of the safe,
and replaced the wooden screen.

“Quick!” he said to her, “you have
still a minute to get away. Hurry—­anywhere—­away—­only
away!”

The look of gratitude that came over her face, as
she understood the full meaning of it was such as
I had never seen before.

“Quick!” he repeated.

It was too late.

“For God’s sake, Kennedy,” shouted
a voice at the street door, “what are you doing
here?”

It was McLear himself. He had come with the Hale
patrol, on his mettle now to take care of the epidemic
of robberies.

Before Craig could reply a cab drew up with a rush
at the curb and two men, half fighting, half cursing,
catapulted themselves into the shop.

They were Winters and Moulton.

Without a word, taking advantage of the first shock
of surprise, Kennedy had clapped a piece of chemical
paper on the foreheads of Mrs. Moulton, then of Moulton,
and on Muller’s. Oblivious to the rest
of us, he studied the impressions in the full light
of the counter.

Moulton was facing his wife with a scornful curl of
the lip.

“I’ve been told of the paste replica—­and
I wrote Schloss that I’d shoot him down like
the dog he is, you—­you traitress,”
he hissed.